Loved and Lost
by LaFlaneur
Summary: Will has many regrets; loving Jem has never been one of them, though losing Jem may be another thing entirely. A whump-tastic Heronstairs fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** **: These characters belong to Cassandra Clare. I make no profit from these drabbles.**

 _ **Author's Note**_ _: Hello again, friends! It's been too long and I have seriously missed posting. Here's a little something that has been sitting on my hard drive for far too long. It's almost finished, so I should be posting regularly. I apologize in advance for the hardcore whump, but I seriously cannot help myself from ripping poor Will's heart out - I hope you forgive me. Enjoy!_

If Will had one regret, it was that he had not been there the night Jem collapsed. It was not his fault, of course. He could never have known how bad Jem had been getting. His parabatai was something of a prodigy when it came to concealing his own pain. So Will could not have known, that evening he opted to stay out well past closing time, that Jem was back at the Institute, clutching his chest and wondering if it were indeed serious enough to wake Charlotte and the others. Nor could Will have known that while he was toasting the good health of his indulgent warlock barkeep, Jem was shuffling to Will's bedroom door before any others, knocking and calling for his parabatai with a soiled handkerchief pressed to his lips. And of course Will could not have know that as he left the bar in the early breaking light of dawn that Sophie was happening upon Jem, deathly pale with only the slightest trace of a pulse, collapsed in the middle of the hallway. Sophie had screamed to find Jem thus – in his dressing gown, limbs askew, with one hand still canted towards Will's bedroom door. But Will had not been there to hear Sophie scream, nor Jem sob.

If Will had a second regret, it was that he had originally laughed when Charlotte met him at the door and told him she had news. That wasn't really his fault, either. His head was swimming in gin and the sight of Charlotte on the steps, all frowns and nervous hands, just did not make any sense against the beautiful spring morning, the clean orange sunrise. But as soon as Charlotte said, "It's Jem," Will's giggles died away and the grin slipped from his face so abruptly it made Charlotte's breath catch.

"His bedroom or the infirmary?"

"The infirmary," Charlotte confirmed, and jumped out of the way as Will pushed past her to take the stairs two at a time. Charlotte ran after him, trying to fill him in as he went. Something about Jem's yin fen supply, something about sending Thomas for more, something about a possible scarcity. But Will was barely listening. He was seeing Jem in his hazy mind. Jem lying lifeless in bed; Jem laughing as Will skipped stones like Jem had taught him; Jem coughing up blood; Jem dancing at the Christmas ball; Jem crying; Jem smiling; Jem dying.

When Will got to the infirmary, it was to find Sophie sitting by Jem's bedside. "Get out," he told her, and felt no remorse at his cruelty. She squeezed Jem's hand once – an action that infuriated Will, though he could not have said why – and took her leave. Will saw the tears in her eyes as she passed but could feel no sympathy. However Sophie thought she loved Jem, it was nothing compared to how Will loved Jem. The two loves could not even be considered to be akin to one another.

Will approached the bedside and stood still for a moment. Without turning to look, he asked Charlotte: "How long has Thomas been gone?"

"He left immediately after we found Jem. Perhaps two hours ago."

"Fine," Will said. He knew Thomas was at least capable. And anyway, Will did not think he himself could have left Jem now for all the world. "Leave us, then."

And Charlotte did not question or condemn Will for his brusqueness, but ghosted from the room with all her silent discretion.

Will looked over his shoulder to make sure that the door had shut, that they were indeed alone. Then he toed off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket, and stripped off his vest, lying each over the arm of the chair in the corner. He watched Jem as he rolled up his sleeves. His parabatai was paler than usual, but otherwise looked completely at peace. They had obviously washed his face and hands and changed his clothes. Will had seen Jem suffer fits before and knew what a bloody mess his friend could work himself into. But to look at him then, Will saw only clean lips and clean hands, if you didn't count the dried blood beneath his fingernails and the diluted smudge under his left eyebrow.

Will took the two additional steps to Jem's side and ran a steady finger over the back of Jem's hand as it rested in the bed sheets. Jem's eyelids stirred in sleep, but otherwise he made no indication that his unconscious mind registered the touch. Will smiled, sadly, and pulled back the covers just enough to allow himself to wiggle in beside Jem. His movements were clumsy and his progress was slow. He was, after all, much bigger than Jem, and the bed was really only meant for one. But once settled, Will sighed in contentment. Jem was on his back with Will curled around him like an extra quilt.

With lips close to Jem's ear, Will frowned and said: "I am so sorry, James. I should have been here."  
And that was enough, and Will closed his eyes and let himself relax. And if he kept his fingers on the pulse point in Jem's wrist, no one was there to condemn him for his worry or absurd sentimentality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** **: These characters belong to Cassandra Clare. I make no profit from these drabbles.**

 _Author's Note_ _: Hello again! As promised, the next installation of this silly bit of angst. I can promise you it only gets worse from here on out, so consider yourself warned, and venture forth with caution._

 __Will laid with Jem until the sun was well above the horizon and the light streaming in at the window was soft and bright. Thomas had yet to return and it was making Will anxious. At around ten o'clock, by the wall on the mantle, Jem began to stir. Will calmly raised himself to his elbows, then swung his legs around to rest his feet on the wooden floor. He turned himself gingerly to face Jem just as the other boy's eyes fluttered and opened. He squinted against the sun, his eyes raw from crying. Will did not feel the need to mention this.

"Good morning, Will," Jem said. He did not seem surprised at his bedfellow.

Will frowned. "Good morning, James."

Jem chuckled weakly, then grimaced. "Ah, it's James today, is it? I must be in trouble."

Will would not smile. "More trouble than you know," he threatened, refusing to let any pity be heard in the harsh tone of his voice.

Jem winced at some internal pain, tried to swallow over a cough. Then he asked, "Where is Thomas?"

"Not back yet," Will admitted, then grumbled, "bloody amateur."

"There's no need for language, Will," Jem scolded. "I might point out that you were not present to offer your superior services."

Will let the accusation rest. Jem could not possibly blame him as harshly as he blamed himself. He did, however, ask the bitter unspoken question hanging between them. "How have you run out already? I replenished your supply only two and a half weeks ago."

Jem frowned, unable to keep the guilt from his face. "It's been getting worse," he confessed, "I've been taking more."

Will raised an eyebrow; Jem continued, "I ran out prematurely last month, too, and the month before. I was fortunate not to have grown as sick as at present, however."

Will mentally kicked himself. "When you had to leave training early last month…" he remembered, "and the month before that, you said you were suffering a headache. You wouldn't come out of your room for two days, not until … until I came with a fresh supply of the Yin Fen."

Jem nodded shamefully.

" _Stupid_ ," Will scolded himself, "so stupid. How could I have missed something so obvious!"

"Because I took pains to deceive you," Jem said softly. "I'm sorry, Will, it was my fault. I ought to have been truthful."

This Will could not deny, but he shook his head. "It's over, Jem, let the past lie. How are you feeling now?"

Jem shrugged. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a place on his arm where Charlotte had worked a health rune. It was painfully inadequate to the one Will himself might have drawn, but it seemed to be giving Jem temporary comfort.

"Also," Jem continued thoughtfully, "I am afraid Sophie snuck me some of your 'secret' opium stash to help with the pain. I must confess to feeling just the slightest bit hazy…"

Will shook his head dismissively, couldn't care less about his pilfered drugs. "Temporary fixes," he said. "We need Thomas." And as if the words had reminded him, Will was suddenly on his feet, pacing and irrationally agitated.

"Where the devil is he?"

There was a knock at the door and Sophie peaked her head inside. "Master Jem … you're awake," she said, and offered one of her absurdly doting smiles.

Jem, ever the gentleman, smiled in return, though it was a bit pained. He raised himself to his elbows and said, "I am, thank you Sophie. And thank you for all of your assistance earlier. I am quite sure I would be in a far worse state if it hadn't been for your kind ministrations."

Sophie blushed an alarming shade of scarlet and began to stutter out a response when Will interrupted: "It there a reason for your intrusion, Sophie, or have you just come to flirt with your ailing master?"

"Will!" Jem objected, but Sophie bowed her head submissively and mumbled: "Thomas has returned," to her shoes.

Will waited for more, then demanded: "And where is he?"

"Receiving orders from Mistress Branwell. He … he has failed to return with Master Jem's … medicine."

She didn't say another word, but retreated, leaving Will to stare after her, feeling as though all the breath had just been sucked from his chest. He looked to Jem and it appeared as though Jem felt the same. Despite his false bravado, it was clear that he was slipping. His complexion paled just a shade or two and he swallowed thickly at the news that no relief would be forthcoming.

Will cursed. "You don't think Mortmain actually _has_ managed to buy up all the supply, do you? When I went for last month's supply…" Will trailed off, immediately regretting his decision to put this new fear into Jem's head.

But Jem just shrugged. "I couldn't know," he said, laying his head back against his pillows. "That would certainly not bode well for me," he chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood of the room.

Will scowled. "Don't joke."

Jem looked back at him and Will was torn between wanting to rush back out into the city in search of the only thing that will cure him and staying always by his side because, when it came down to it, Jem could not be cured – their present predicament was only a cruel reminder of that fact. "What – what do you want me to do, Jem?"

"Will?" Jem asked, uncertain.

"I can go and aid Thomas, though I may not be any more successful than he. Or, if you prefer, I can stay. I don't want to leave if you think … if you feel…"

Jem smiled, and it was a sweet smile. "I'm not going to die while you're out, Will, if that's your fear."

It was, but Will pretended it wasn't.

"I will," Jem continued, "ask if you would redraw Charlotte's rune before you go. Hers has been immeasurably effective, however I can feel it weakening. And yours will, no doubt, be stronger and longer-lasting."

This was true, if only for the bond they shared as parabatai, but Will could not help a swell of pride and protective pleasure at Jem's words. "Of course," he nodded, reaching for Jem's arm. But Jem halted his hand and directed Will's stele, instead, to a spot just over Jem's ribs. Or, rather, just over his lungs. Will frowned, but nodded while Jem unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his pale chest. Will wrote the rune with as much concentration as he could muster, willing health and wholeness down his stele and into Jem's skin. The rune burned for a moment, then set.

"Thank you," Jem said softly.

"Promise you'll be okay when I come back," Will said, more forcefully than he'd meant to.

Jem frowned and said, "You know I've never been able to make promises where my health is concerned, Will. I cannot promise you anything."

Will scowled, though he'd known the answer before he'd asked the question. "Give me a time-frame," he suggested, hearing the break in his own voice.

Jem looked lost, cast around for a moment, and finally said. "Two days? Don't –don't be gone more than forty-eight hours. Whether you have the Yin Fen or no, just … come home."

Will nodded, determined.

"And Will," Jem continued, "don't do anything foolish."

Will raised an eyebrow.

Jem swallowed. "I … I _am_ going to die, William. If not now, then in a year, two years, five at most. Don't put yourself in unnecessary danger for something which will only put off the inevitable."

Will balked. "Jem, don't you dare-"

"I'm quite serious, Will. I expect to see you before I die, even if it's sooner rather than later. You come back to me, one way or the other. Don't go making any deals with the devil, not on my account."

Will took Jem's hand and squeezed his slim fingers. "I'll be back, Jem. I'll come back. And I _won't_ fail you. Try not to worry so much. Just rest."

Jem frowned, and continued on as if Will had never spoken. "Not for me, William. Don't you dare go getting yourself hurt for me. I'm not worth it; a dying man is never worth it."

Will refrained from telling Jem that he was _all_ that was worth it – he was the only thing worth fighting for in Will's entire existence. If it would save Jem, even for a year, even for a day, Will would gladly lay down his own life in payment. But that was not what Jem wanted to hear, so Will just said: "I promise," before squeezing Jem's hand a last time and going to redress in the corner of the room.

Jem watched him as he did so, let his eyes linger on Will's shoulders, his back, his hands – all the things that made Will so strong and steady – the pillar of support upon which Jem had always been able to lean. Jem knew the others would have laughed their heads off to think of anyone referring to Will thus: the boy was the very definition of "unstable". All temper, volatility, and passionate irrationality. But Jem had never seen him that way. Jem had only ever seen friendship, unwavering loyalty, and unquestioning love.

"Will?" he said, just as Will was pulling on his jacket. "If I don't … if I've miscalculated the time I have left…"

Will squared his shoulders and came back to Jem's bedside, pointing an aggressive finger in his parabatai's face. "That's not going to happen," he said, almost arrogantly. "You're going to be right here when I get back. I am going to go, do what needs to be done, and I will be back before you've even noticed I've gone. In the meantime, you are going to relax. Sleep. Take as much of my opium as you need. Don't suffer. Just … just … you'll be here when I get back. You've never failed me yet, Jem, don't make it your last mortal act to fail me when it matters the most. Do you understand?"

Jem smiled, nodded once. And before he could think about it, Will had leaned down to press a fierce kiss to Jem's forehead. "I'll be back," he whispered, and then was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** **Nothing is ever mine...**

 _Author's Note:_ _Not much to say - enjoy!_

When Will returned, he was out of breath and walking with a limp. He was also empty-handed. Charlotte met him at the door as she had two days ago, but her state this time around was considerably worse. If Will had had any thought for anyone besides his _parabatai_ , he might have noticed that Charlotte hadn't slept in the two days since he'd left. But he hadn't, and he didn't.

Both Nephilim spoke at the same time.

"How is he?" asked Will.

"Where is it?" demanded Charlotte.

Will shook his head and Charlotte actually gasped, brought her hand to her mouth, and said softly "Oh, Will…"

Neither knew if Charlotte's words were grief for Jem or fear for Will, but they told the dark boy all he needed to know.

Will felt all the blood drain from his face. It must have pooled in his fingertips because they suddenly felt heavy; his palms felt too hot. The rest of him felt like pins and needles. One deep breath and then, "God _damnit_!" And Will was pushing past Charlotte to get to the infirmary.

"Bedroom!" Charlotte managed to call after him, "he's in his bedroom!"

Will cursed again as he sprinted up the stairs, took them two at a time. He knew what Jem's relocation meant; he knew how his parabatai thought. If Jem had moved from the infirmary it was because he wanted to die in the comfort of his own bed. This made Will mad enough to spit, but he couldn't say a word about it. He would not yell at Jem – how could he? Instead he paused outside Jem's door for a few heartbeats, took the time to catch his breath and smooth his hair. He knew what he would find once he opened the door; he needed to be prepared. He needed to be strong for Jem, who was, at that moment, very very weak. He needed to show no sign of anger, or fear, or helplessness. He needed to-

"Will, please come in. I know you're there; I can hear you breathing." The voice was soft, and raspy, and horribly pained, but there was a note of humor in it. Will could hear the way his parabatai was attempting to smile for him, even through all the pain. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and pushed the door open.

Jem was alone this time. He was in his bed with his head resting back against the pillows, a halo of brown speckles staining the white linen around his face. Blood. There was more blood on the coverlet, on the stack of used handkerchiefs by his bedside, on his hands, on his lips, in his hair. Will swallowed and renewed his resolve. "How do you feel?" he asked, lamely. He knew the answer. Charlotte's face had told him, Jem's voice told him, the … blood told him.

"Better now you're here," Jem sighed, and reached a hand out towards Will.

Will felt the tears well in his eyes again. "Jem," he said, knowing exactly what Jem was reaching for, "I … I don't have it, Jem. I'm so sorry."

Jem frowned. "That's not what I meant, William," he scolded. "Now would you come here? You're making me nervous standing in the doorway like that."

Will was taken aback for a moment, but he obeyed. He was at Jem's side in three steps. He sat on the edge of the bed and let his hands rest uselessly on his knees.

"It's okay," Jem comforted, "I knew Mortmain had bought out the stash. There's no need to blame yourself, Will."

"But it's coming," Will protested. "I just … I didn't want to be late."

Jem frowned. "What do you mean, 'it's coming'?" He was speaking softly, too softly. Will could tell he was trying to keep from lapsing into a coughing fit.

"Magnus," Will explained, "He's going to be here soon. I had to leave, to get back, but Magnus is … finishing the job. He'll be here so soon, Jem, a day at the most. You can hang on that long, can't you? What's a day? It's nothing."

Jem frowned. "What job? What have you done?"

Will could see Jem's heart rate accelerate – could see him getting worked up. "Nothing, Jem, you don't have to worry. Everything's fine. I haven't done anything."

"Will-" Jem began, but his voice caught and he coughed. Just twice, and then he was gone. Alternately dragging in wheezing, greedy breaths and spitting out sharp, wracking coughs. Will reached hands out into midair, unsure of where to put them, but Jem motioned to the bedside table and Will reached for the cleanest of the dirty handkerchiefs. It was still damp with blood and spit, but cold to the touch. Jem took it from his fingers and used it to try to cover the spray from his mouth, from his lungs. He turned to face away from Will, and Will took the opportunity to move closer, to put a bracing arm around Jem's shoulders.

When it passed, Jem exchanged the cloth for a glass of water, also at his bedside. When he drank, Will saw the blood and water change places, tinting the rest of the drink a sickly salmon color. After replacing the glass, Jem fell back on the pillows, exhausted. Will helped to guide him, then hovered slightly. Jem tried to smile, but there was fresh blood on his lips and Will could not help but frown at the sight.

"I'm that pretty, am I?" Jem croaked, teasing.

Will shook his head – no words, no witty retort. How could he tell Jem that no, he was not pretty like this, never like this, but that Will's heart throbbed with adoration all the same?

"And don't tell me 'nothing'; Will, it's never nothing where you're concerned. You haven't been innocent since the day you were born."

It took Will a moment to catch up. Oh. His recent … "adventures". Well. He could hardly tell Jem of all that had transpired in the forty-eight hours he had been gone, or the measures he had taken to ensure Jem's survival. Magnus Bane knew, and even that was enough to shame Will into silence. And it wasn't over. Will would have debts to pay for a long time coming. He would have to go back and face up to what he had done. But not now, and not today. This day belonged to Jem, one way or the other.

"Please hush, Jem. There's not a thing in the world for you to think of now but your own health. You need only worry about resting, and recovering your strength."

Jem shook his head. "My strength's all but gone, Will, don't be silly. I know you see death when you look at me now. I know it's here for me. I can smell it in this very room. It's been lingering since last night."

It was becoming increasingly difficult _not_ to yell at Jem. Will tried to swallow down his rage. He tried to change the subject. "You mustn't talk like that. You sent me away to find the drug that would restore you. It is on its way – don't lose hope now, Jem."

Jem chuckled; it looked painful. "I did not send you away for the drugs, Will. I sent you away so that you would not have to watch me die," he corrected.

Will blanched. "W-what?"

"I told you. I knew Mortmain had bought up the last of the Yin Fen. I knew I was going to die, Will. I didn't want you to have to suffer with me. If I could have sent them _all_ away," he gestured absently to the rest of the house, "I would have done so. I gave myself the two days … you're back just in time to say goodbye. I could not go without saying goodbye, Will."

The truth was so simple, and so cold, coming from Jem that way. Will tried not to vomit.

"That's two whole days, Jem! That's two days more I could have had with you! And you – and you _took_ them from me?!"

Jem tilted his head to one side. He tried to hide it, of course, but Will saw the brightness in his eyes. "We've had three years, Will, three wonderful years. Would two days have made any difference? I wouldn't have wanted you here, sad and sleepless, watching me waste away in my final hours, I-"

" _I_ would have wanted it!" Will startled himself and Jem both by punching the headboard, denting the wall in his fury. "That was bloody _selfish_ of you, Jem! And _this_ is bloody selfish – dying is selfish! _You_ don't get to decide how much time is enough time – why do _you_ get to decide?"

Jem trembled a moment; Will felt sure he was going to weep and felt momentarily guilty for his outburst. Instead, Jem heaved himself up with unbelievable force for one so frail and dealt Will a stinging slap across the face. Then he shoved Will, and expended the last of his energy on hoarsely shouting, "Decide?! I didn't _decide_! I didn't _choose_ this, _William_!"

Will had never heard Jem speak his name in that tone before, as if … as if he were genuinely, ardently _angry_ with Will.

"Do you think I'd _choose_ to leave you? I'm terrified to be apart from you, you miserable, terrible, arrogant _ass_! All I want in the world is more time; all I want … all I-" but then he doubled over, hacking, and neither boy had time to grab a handkerchief in the face of Jem's sudden fit.

Jem's shoulders heaved and he left a mess of black, red, and phlegmy yellow on his hands, on the blankets, smeared on his cheeks. He let the tears flow freely down his face to add to the wet mess. He looked at Will with eyes that were yellowing themselves, and whimpered: "I didn't want you to have to see _this_ …"

Will swallowed. Then he went calmly to Jem's closet and pulled out the last of the clean linens. When he returned he took Jem's right hand without a word. Gently, tenderly, he cleaned as much of the blood and mucus away as he could manage, getting in between Jem's fingers and all the way up to Jem's wrist. He repeated the procedure with Jem's left hand. When the handkerchief was covered in viscera, Will set it aside and pulled his own kerchief from his pocket. This he puts to Jem's face, to his lips. His movements were so careful that Jem became mesmerized by the feeling of Will's cool fingers against his fevered mouth. He watched Will's face intently, even as Will watched Jem's lips. When Will finished, he smiled at Jem sadly. It was a small smile – an accepting smile. There were still pink smears across Jem's cheeks and over his knuckles, but they would not come away without a decent bath, and both boys knew Jem to be far too weak for such an activity.

Still silent, Jem reached out a hand and Will took it, sliding closer to his parabatai until they were pressed close together. Jem motioned to the covers, and Will nodded, feeling the tears begin. He let Jem guide him down and under the covers, fully dressed this time. He set himself up with Jem's head on his shoulder, Jem's arm across his chest, Jem's face a breath away from his neck. He could feel Jem's fine hair tickling his cheek and he could smell the disease on him – the cold addiction eating his _parabatai_ from the inside out, slowing sapping both boys of their will to live.

Neither apologized for their violent outburst; neither needed to.

Will breathed into Jem's hair and Jem listened to the sound of Will's heart – wondered how different life would be if his own heart beat that strongly.

"I love you," Jem said, and it took Will be surprise for a moment, even if it shouldn't have.

Will panicked, not because he didn't _know_ that Jem loved him, or that he loved Jem, but because they had never felt the need to say so out loud before. Why did Jem choose _now_? "Jem?" Will asked, and he knew Jem would be able to hear the terror in his voice.

Jem chuckled weakly. "Yes," he said, "it's me. The fool who just confessed to loving the most impossible, absurd boy under heaven and earth. Who else?"

Will exhaled. "I'm sorry. I just … I was afraid-"

"What?" Jem smiled, "Afraid that those were my dying words? I am not _quite_ so melodramatic, Will. I am not _you_ , after all."

Will smiled despite himself. "No," he said fondly. "No, you certainly are not me. You are much braver, and better, and stronger than I could ever hope to be, dear Jem."

"And handsomer," Jem offered helpfully.

"And handsomer," Will conceded, smiling and crying both at once. "And I love you too, James. Of course I do."

"I know," said Jem, and he nuzzled softly closer to Will's warmth. "I know."


End file.
